Manuscript 221 (Paper draft)
by I'm Nova
Summary: It's not an error that something called 'draft' has been published. Here is a rough sketch of a scientific paper, detailing an old myth which might have helped inspire Conan Doyle... (Not meta; written for the Elemental Control challenge from H.I.A.T.U.S. on Tumblr).


_Disclaimer: Of course I don't own a single thing. A. N. Mind: here I'm treating one of the elements as 'Wind', not 'air'. This is a tribute to my brother, who got his degree in mediaeval history and writes things like this (well, so much better than this) for real on a regular basis… and very quickly. Hope I didn't give him too bad a reputation with this story ^^'''_

Manuscript 221 (Paper draft)

It's the dream of every historian to stumble on an interesting, neglected source. Which is what happened to me – and before publishing a more complete analysis of it, I thought that offering its unabridged text to the public was my duty.

I didn't expect to find such a document in the small (insert full Library name later) in London, but a recently acquired private collection yielded one such treasure. While examining the rather disparate collection – its creator seemed to have eclectic interests – I came across a manuscript, which had received the accession number of 221.

It had been clearly created by patching up together two different fascicles of much earlier composition, neither of them whole, around the XIth century. Instead of the nth copy of the bible, it seemed as the man who'd bound them was taking care to preserve these surprising evidences of local pride. Indeed, both parts held accounts of the ancient mythology of the area. (Insert physical details of the manuscript later, now I'm too excited to bother with materials and calligraphy).

The first fascicle held fae legends that are rather common, and certainly well preserved nowadays, and while it offers interesting data about the antiquity of some of them, is not revolutionary by any means. But the second one (which obviously received the B signature) – seeming to date back to the last quarter of the IXth century – contained a myth which is still unknown, as far as my researches could ascertain.

I'm not entirely sure which population it would have pertained to. Since Great Britain was Christian at that point, my hypothesis is that the manuscript holds the tale of a stranger, possibly captured, to a monk amassing data in view of a missionary attempt. Of course the easiest option for a heathen in that time and place would be a Viking raider, but the mythology in the manuscript isn't Nordic, nor does it seem to fit with nature as they would know it.

Discovering from where the man recounting this came, and in which circumstances he arrived in England, should be our first investigation. It's a grave loss that the fascicle's beginning was lost prior to the binding. Here is its translation (remember to copy the transcription I made, too), hoping it will be of service to the historians' community and open some new avenues of research.

[…] call their major divine couple simply Mummy and Daddy. It might seem less respectful than they should, certainly. But he explained to me, smiling as if he believed me very naïve, that behaving towards your gods with less fearful awe and more affectionate familiarity would trick them. The gods addressed like that would believe you were part of their family, and consequently dispense more favours. I tried to remark that gods that could be tricked so easily could only be false deities, and not even very powerful demons. His reply was that I overestimated my own God, which he didn't even seem to realise for the grave blasphemy it was, or in which position stating that put him.

Mummy and Daddy loved each other very much, and naturally they had sons. Their first son was (Ed. What the heck is written here? Need to recheck, the writing is all smudged. Anyway, from what's said later about the meaning, as a momentary placeholder I can use Mycroft), or – in lay terms – the Earth. He lay, too lazy to move, content with all the creatures that would come later to skitter on his large, lethargic body. Observing everything, and yet not seeing a reason for him to move even an inch to intervene in one sense or another.

Mummy and Daddy were clearly planning more children, though, because their firstborn's name wasn't exactly Land, so much as 'The land at the mouth of the stream'… and indeed, they had boy twins.

One was Water, and one was Fire. My source stated that the Water's twin name, (?), very aptly meant Gold in their language, because treasures came from the water. (Ed. Another indecipherable scribble instead of the name. I'm starting to think the author couldn't understand his source's names in their original language, and just made up some weird kind of doodle. Also, I definitely need to check the history of this collection before it came to the library, to see if Conan Doyle might ever have had access to it; Sherlock might mean 'blond', not gold exactly, but with the other name literally meaning Mycroft there's a chance he came across it while trying to name his characters: God! Imagine the scoop!).

Unlike their big brother, the twins were restless, easily bored, and prone to wreaking havoc when left to their own devices. (Ed. Ok, until I manage to decipher that I'm using Sherlock) 'Sherlock' chafed against his big brother, because each of them was limited by the other, and he'd like much better endlessly roaming everywhere, but actually worked well with him, and when they weren't at odds the most beautiful results sprang from their cooperation.

Hot on his heels came ? (Ed: God, I hate these smudges! I admit I could use Jacob, because of the whole 'second twin trying to drive the other away/take his place', but given the Doyle hypothesis, might as well use the modern evolution of Jacob as placeholder…James), id est Fire. Unlike his brothers, he refused to work together with anyone, and was even more easy to anger and destruction than his twin.

He especially hated his twin, because he believed that he should be the only son. Fire and Water would be at each other's throats all the time, and James' fury grew hotter because, unless his twin was already weak – in which case he could drive him the other away from the place – he didn't stand a chance against Sherlock. The fact that their brother would hide his twin from him was another point of contention – but then again, Mycroft didn't mind feeding him (he never minded feeding anyone), so their feud wasn't as vicious.

When I pointed out that, of all of his so-called gods, James was very clearly the devil, and the others very probably his henchmen, the man laughed at me. He asked if I knew fire at all. Sure, he had a temper – and one should always have to be very careful when handling it – but James was also a very obliging fellow, if one knew how to ask him. Did I perhaps eat my food raw? Did I never forge the metal?

He deserved respect. More than any of his family, he required reverence rather than familiarity. But, as long as he received the offers he was greedy for, he'd help in a variety of tasks, making them so much easier or, sometimes, at all possible.

As I should have known, according to my companion, Mummy and Daddy didn't stop there. Soon enough, they had a baby girl, too. Eurus, the impetuous wind. (Ed. well, no scribbles this time, but obviously – given both the Latin name and the fact that it's definitely not a girl's name – an explicative interlinear note that kicked the original text out of this manuscript) She too, had a temper, and was moody – one moment she'd gently caress, and the following be violent and destroy anything on her path.

Indeed, none of her brothers could persuade her one way or another – though (Ed. another scribble, but it's obviously James…errr, Fire), would be driven even more wild by her, and together they would devastate extensive areas, leaving them charred and sterile. Well, unless he was feeling lethargic, in which case she might very well make him disappear for the moment.

The other twin, too, could easily be brought to a rage by her, and together they'd beat down on anything on their path, but she wasn't strong enough to vanquish him, or make him flee. Only the firstborn was untouched by her fits of rage, and couldn't be persuaded to join in her destructive antics. She could harass him as long as she wanted – she would not manage to do much more than ruffle his clothes.

Mummy and Daddy had hoped that finally having a girl would bring peace and equilibrium to the family, and perhaps persuade the permanently fighting twins to a more relaxed approach, as the family dinners were an exhausting affair already. But with her being completely indomitable, and often egging the both of them on, the parents sighed and opted to keep her locked up in a castle they built especially for her most of the time. She still manages to escape when she's bored enough, and always will.

Despairing at the situation, Mummy and Daddy reached out to the only God more ancient and powerful than even them, Cupidford (Ed. ? again, it seems that an interlinear note explaining the Latin equivalent removed part of the line…only possible now part of the actual name remained – if I've read well), who had facilitated their union.

Their consultant explained that it was useless to attempt to reach a perfect equilibrium by themselves. They needed someone external, and not bound by a similar nature, to help them and balance them out, siding with the one who would deserve it at the moment.

He disappeared for a while, and then finally came to them with a companion… the first man, which my companion insisted was not called Adam but something like Ion. (Ed. Or Ian, maybe? Very interestingly, one of the latest in the obvious long list of owners of this manuscript – possibly the very last one – added a flying reproduction of Leonardo's Vitruvian Man between this page and the next).

Ion was introduced to the godly siblings, and quickly, he learned how to interact best with all of them. He learned that 'Mycroft' was very generous, as long as he managed to get 'Sherlock' (Ed. Or whatever their actual names are) to cooperate with the both of them, and put most of the work in himself, because the firstborn wouldn't do anything more than laying there.

Ion discovered that, despite her random explosions of temper, the sister was the best to turn to when you needed out of a situation, as long as you found a way to channel her. If you were very good, you could even obtain her help for more than escaping…or going towards, if she was in the mood to carry you along.

But naturally, Ion mostly interacted with the twins. His relationship with the younger of the two was ambivalent – it took him a while to learn how to contain him, and obtain his help without letting him run amok. The man would never be able to tame him entirely, as he learned after many difficult experiences.

Ion learned quickly, though, when in yet another spat the younger of the twins managed to once again drive the other away, that out of all of them, Sherlock (Ed. that name definitely fits more than Gold here…Doyle might very well have read this) was the one he couldn't live without.

If the sister disappeared back into her palace, he would be stuck where he was, but not suffer too badly. The firstborn was way too lazy to ever move, but even so, without his younger brother he was useless, and all his usual generosity disappeared. If the other twin decided to suddenly vanish, so many of his activities would be impossible, but he could still survive, if without most pleasures or comforts.

But without Sherlock, Ion would soon die a most painful and miserable death. So Ion would stick close to the iridescent-eyed, moody god, and whatever his siblings came up with, he knew whom to side with and carefully protect.

The godlings would still fight all the time, but they didn't go entirely unchecked anymore. Industriously, Ion would work to ensure they didn't wreak too much destruction in the wake of their spats. He was properly grateful to them all, helping to contain James and keeping him busy, working for Mycroft, embracing the volatile sister when her way coincided with his own goals. But only Sherlock he loved. Only Sherlock he would yearn for, to swallow and literally become one with himself. Only Sherlock […]

And here our fragment ends, once again incomplete. It's not much, in truth. But it is definitely enough to raise questions in more than one field – and I hope someone will join me in finding the answers.


End file.
